even begged Don not to wait any longer, assuring him that she would
go out and join him very soon.

"That's a good old Dot," said Don, proudly. "I'll wait for you. Where's
your hat?"

"No, you go first, Don. I'll be out soon. I really will."

"All right. Ed's out there again by this time. You'll find us in the
gymnasium." And off he ran, well knowing that Dorry's heart was heavy,
but believing that the truest kindness and sympathy lay in making as
light as possible of Uncle George's revelation; which, in his boyish
logic, he felt wasn't so serious a thing after all, if looked at in the
right spirit.

Dorothy waited until he was out of sight, and then sat down to think it
all over.

The result was that when Liddy chanced to pass through the hall, a few
moments later, she was startled by hearing half-suppressed sobs.

According to the custom of the house, which made the cosey corner a sort
of refuge for Dorry, the good woman, upon entering at the open door,
stood a moment wondering what to do. But as the sound of another little
sob came from behind the screen, she called out in a cheery voice:

"May I come in, Miss Dorry dear?"

"Y-yes," was the answer. "Oh, Liddy, is that you? Uncle has told us all
about it."

"Sakes alive!" cried Liddy, holding up her hands in dismay--"not told
you _everything_?"

"Yes, he has," insisted Dorry, weeping afresh, as Lydia's manner seemed
to give her a new right to consider that an awful fact had been revealed
to her. "I know now all about it. I haven't any Aunt Kate at all. I'm
a-all alone!"

"For shame, Miss Dorry; how can you talk so? You, with your blessed
uncle and your brother, to say nothing of them who have cherished you in
their arms from the day you were a helpless baby--for shame, Miss, to
say such a thing!"

This was presenting matters in a new light.

"Oh, Liddy, you don't know about it. There's no Aunt K-Kate, anyway,"
sobbed Dorry, rather relieved at finding herself the subject of a good
scolding.

"There isn't, eh? Well, I'd like to know why not!" retorted Lydia,
furtively wiping her eyes. "I guess there _is_. I knew, long before you
were born, that she was a dear little adopted girl. But what of that?
that doesn't mean she wasn't ever a little girl at all. Don't you know,
Miss Dorry, child, that a human being's a human being, and folks care
for 'em for what they are? It wasn't just belonging to this or that
family made Miss Kate so lovely,--it's what she